Sister's Trio Squad

Chapter 3

Chapter Three

'You could learn to control it more. One day it will be the death of you!'

Nancy had ignored Margaret's remarks. 'Now that's settled, I'm going to sleep,' she had announced. Mary Kate had a temper, too, she had thought, although she was more in control of herself these days, but probably that's what came of being older. Even though wild horses wouldn't drag an admission from her, Nancy knew her sister was mortally afraid of being 'left on the shelf'. She, herself, viewed the prospect of marriage to any of the young men in Clonmel with abhorrence, but then she had her ambition to sustain her. Margaret was totally uninspired in that respect.

Nancy had pulled the quilt up to her chin and closed her eyes, prayers forgotten, to dream of herself as the toast of the musical stage across the Atlantic in America. It was the land of opportunity for those like herself, who were strong and determined enough to take fate in their hands and twist and shape it until they had achieved their goal.

Lisa had lain on her side, staring at a dim shaft of moonlight that had penetrated the c***k left between the drawn curtains. She was dreading the look of pain that she knew would haunt her mother's face, yet she felt the cold fingers of fear reach out and touch her heart. She couldn't stay, she just couldn't! She began to say her prayers, counting the decade of the Rosary on her fingers beneath the bedclothes, for she had forgotten where she had left her beads. But between the 'Hail Mary's' her thoughts had begun to stray. They all had to think of themselves now. Once away from all this fear and violence she could concentrate her efforts on following her dreams. She could get a better job and then she was sure she would meet a man who would sweep her off her feet, just as the heroes did in the novels she liked to read.

Only Margaret had taken the trouble to kneel at the side of the bed to pray, the linoleum cold and hard beneath her knees. She had prayed that she was doing the right thing, that her mother would understand and that she wouldn't be too hurt or upset. She had begged forgiveness for the pride that had driven her to this decision, the pride and dignity that the title 'Mrs' would give her. But was it really pride? Wasn't it what God intended women to be - wives and mothers? It was too late to go back, she'd made up her mind and tomorrow… well, tomorrow would come soon enough.

So next day, when they were all in the kitchen that served as a dining room as well, and supper was over, Nancy had announced their intention to leave Ireland.

Her statement was received first with a shocked silence, then with an outburst of demands and recriminations by Sarah followed by Matty, and despite all Margaret's prior instructions, Nancy lost her temper. Her voice - the shrillness and stridency of which made even the whistle of the train in Prior Park Station pale into insignificance - reverberated along Anne Street.

'I've made up my mind and that's that! I'm going! I don't care what either of you say, I've had enough and nothing will stop me, Ma.'

Margaret slammed down the sash window so hard that the dishes on the dresser rattled. 'Calm down, Nancy! You promised there'd be no tantrums. Do you want to be heard all the way down to the Quays?'

'Yes! I don't care if the whole town hears me. I'm sick to death of this place, of this whole country!' she screamed back.

Lisa sat watching them with rising annoyance. Oh, did Nancy always have to explode? 'I thought we were going to discuss this quietly, now with you two yelling at each other it's getting like the Battle of the Widow MacCormack's Cabbage Patch!'

Matty who had been reading the Clonmel Chronical flung it down on the table to signify his increasing annoyance.

Sarah stood with her arms folded over her ample bosom. With a mother's intuition she had suspected that some thing was going on, but she was hurt and angry that they had not discussed it with her instead of just 'announcing' it. From long experience, she also knew that Nancy was working herself up into one of her tantrums and she was in no mood to try and humour her out of it, as she could sometimes do. She picked up a large, enamelled jug from the shelf alongside the brown, earthenware sink. It was the only way. Nancy wasn't a child who could be dragged screaming and kicking into the yard to have her head held firmly under the cold water pump, but a dousing with cold water was the only effective way of dealing with Nancy's temper.

She blamed herself, of course. It was a penance for her 'Sin of Pride' in calling her middle daughter ReNancy Margaret. Oh, she'd thought it a fine, grand name then, even though Father Maguire had doubted the 'propriety' of it. Sure, wasn't 'ReNancy Coeli' one of the titles given the Blessed Virgin in the Litany, she had retaliated? Translated from the Latin it meant 'Queen of Heaven' and while to have added the 'coeli' would have been sheer blasphemy, she had stuck to her guns over ReNancy. And how she'd paid for it. ReNancy Margaret O'Maxwell had turned out to be a holy terror and no mistake!

At the sight of the jug, Margaret, Lisa and even Matty, all edged as far away from their sister as possible.

Nancy's eyes narrowed but she held her ground. You come near me with that jug, Ma, and I'll go now, this very minute. I swear to Heaven I will. I'll walk out of that door and I won't come back - ever!'

'And a fine cut you'd look walking down the street dripping wet,' Matty muttered, sotto voce.